The Investigation
by Shellecah
Summary: A Pinkerton detective comes to Dodge to investigate the death of a U.S. senator. Two chapters in the first-person voices of the agent and Matt.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One – Agent Thaddeus Penn

The Pinkerton Agency dispatched me to Dodge to investigate the murder of U.S. Senator Greyston, a political society darling. I compiled a list of townspeople after three days preliminary footwork and handed the paper to Marshal Dillon, who'd demanded to know my proceedings.

"Moss Grimmick, Mrs. Smalley, Sam Noonan, Mr. Jonas, Kathlene "Kitty" Russell, Galen "Doc" Adams, Chester Goode, Matthew "Matt" Dillon," the marshal read to his assistant. Dillon said he'd listen to every interview, with his man as witness.

When I argued that their presence could compromise my investigation, the marshal said he was duty bound to search for the killer, that he was in charge and we'd do things his way. "Might I remind you that the U.S. Department of Justice hired the Agency for this case, Marshal," I said.

"Penn," he replied—he'd assumed the liberty of addressing me by my surname without the honorific—"The U.S. Marshal's Service assigned me to this territory. I have authority over investigations here."

A wealthy widow named Mary Norman visited the marshal's office and offered to transcribe my interviews, which I thought suspicious. I objected when Marshal Dillon accepted her services. "Why would a woman of means proffer her time for this menial task," I said. "If she knows who murdered Senator Greyston, she could sabotage my investigation."

The marshal's decisions disquieted me so I began craving my habitual sedation—laudanum mixed with whiskey. My stomach was souring and my nerves buzzed like telegraph wires.

"I need a transcript of the interviews for my report," said Dillon.

"Why can't your man Chester do it?" I said. "He's your assistant, isn't he?"

"He's not equipped to take transcription," said the marshal.

He'd sent his partner out to bring in Mr. Grimmick and Mrs. Norman. Grimmick said Senator Greyston paid for the loan of two horses to go riding with a woman named Felicity "Lissie" Carol. The old man neglected to inform me that one of Felicity's parents had been a slave, or so I presumed from her appearance when I visited her at the restaurant outside of town called Southern Feast, where she worked as cook.

"Her color makes no difference to your case," Grimmick said, when I asked why he left out that particular detail.

The four of us sat at the table in the marshal's office—myself, Marshal Dillon, Mr. Grimmick, and the widow Norman taking transcription. Chester sat behind the marshal's desk. He'd boiled coffee and served us each a cup. Though the coffee was strong with no milk, I faced a long day so I drank it.

"Did you think it odd that Senator Greyston would go riding with this woman?" I asked Grimmick.

"Her being a cook . . . maybe," said Grimmick. "His position being higher than hers. As to her color, I didn't think it peculiar, their riding out together. Miss Carol's a beautiful woman. The senator's not the first white man I seen squiring her about."

"Miss Carol," I said. "That's what you call her."

"That's her name," said Grimmick. "The senator hardly took his eyes off her while I saddled the horses. She seemed different when they rode back in from when they set out. Sober like. Wouldn't look him in the face neither. She chatted and smiled when they first come to the livery. Didn't say nothin' when they got back 'cept goodbye to me, and she walked out the stable without waitin' for the senator. He looked worried, like he's afraid she's done with him."

"How do you know Senator Greyston was thinking that, Mr. Grimmick," I said.

"Course I didn't know sure. Looked that way, though," said Grimmick.

I next interviewed Mrs. Smalley. Though her testimony was hearsay and non-admissible as evidence, I thought it might prove useful to my investigation. Mrs. Smalley heard her account from a woman who worked at the Long Branch saloon and stayed at her boarding house. The woman had refused to speak to me, and when I urged her, she ran up the stairs to the saloon's second floor and closed herself in a room.

"Some girls who board with me have a past," Mrs. Smalley explained. "Outlaw beaus and such. Things they wouldn't want a Pinkerton agent to know. This girl's name is Bess."

"What's her last name?" I said.

"She doesn't want you to know her last name, Mr. Penn," Mrs. Smalley said. "Bess said Senator Greyston came to the Long Branch often and gave the prettiest girls special attention, talk and drinks and all. He danced with them, sat them in his lap and kissed them, things like that. I never saw the senator myself, but Bess said he was one of the handsomest men she ever had met—striking blue eyes, she said, and dark-gold hair—"

"I don't need you to describe the senator's appearance, Mrs. Smalley," I interrupted.

"Yes well, I don't suppose you do," she said. "Bess said the senator was in Dodge to campaign for the presidential election, but my boarders never mentioned any speeches. He sounded like a gadabout to me, gambling with political party funds and spending nights with gals."

"Did Bess say Greyston did that?" I asked.

"Well, she said he played cards and had a lot of money," said Mrs. Smalley. "And he'd go upstairs with the girls. Bess swears she didn't go to a room with him; she says she never does that, though of course she wouldn't tell me if she does. She knows I'll turn her out of my place directly if I find out about any such goings on."

Though the Long Branch bartender Sam Noonan hadn't much to say about Greyston, I asked him to come to the office for an interview anyway. I customarily held at least one interview with each person on my list at a marshal's or sheriff's office or police station to make my report official. I left Felicity Carol off the list, as my initial sleuthing convinced me to set her apart as the key person in my case. I'd pay her surprise visits to elicit her unrehearsed reaction to my questions.

"Senator Greyston drank a lot," Mr. Noonan said. "More whiskey than beer. He said he was from Mississippi, and asked if I knew of a restaurant where they served southern food. Only one near Dodge is Southern Feast, about a half-mile outside town.

"The senator held his drink well, but he was liquored the night he was killed. Not falling down drunk but swaying and slurring his words. He said he was off to Southern Feast for a late supper, and that was the last I saw of him," said Noonan.

We had time before lunch for one more interview—Mr. Jonas the storekeeper. "I recollect Senator Greyston visiting my store just once," Jonas said. "He said Felicity Carol was with him, said she told him she'd wait outside as she commonly patronized a store a mile out from Dodge, and there'd be trouble if she went inside my store. Not that _I_ mind if she comes in," said Jonas. "Her money's as good as anyone's. Some of my regular customers though, unfortunately—"

"I don't need to know what your customers think, Mr. Jonas," I interrupted. "Go on with what Senator Greyston said."

"Oh yes, where was I," said Jonas. "The senator said it was cold out, and he asked me if it was alright if Miss Carol came inside. I said I supposed it wouldn't do any harm."

"You're the second man I heard call her Miss Carol," I said to Jonas. I looked at Marshal Dillon. "Marshal, are either of her parents an important personage?" I said. "Which parent is white?"

"I don't know the answer to that, Penn," said the marshal. I was too daunted by his hard look to tell him I didn't like his tone.

"Miss Carol's a woman, so I respect her," said Jonas. "Really, Mr. Penn, if you keep interrupting me, I'll forget everything. Now where was I?"

To avoid saying anything to lead his account, I looked into his eyes and made no reply. I wanted to glean any relevant bit of meaning from his reaction to my silence.

"You was sayin' it wouldn't do no harm for Lissie to come inside the store, Jonas," said Chester from his seat behind the marshal's desk.

"Oh yes," said Jonas. "So Senator Greyston went out to call Miss Carol into the store, and—"

"Wait a moment," I said, looking at Chester. "You called her Lissie. You have an acquaintance with Felicity Carol?" Mary Norman paused her transcribing to give me a startled look, and the marshal shifted in his chair.

"We're friendly in passin'," said Chester. "I don't see her much."

"Mr. Penn, I have a store to run," said Jonas. "If you don't let me finish here, I—"

"No, go on, Mr. Jonas," I said.

"She came inside the store, then," Jonas went on. "Miss Carol. Senator Greyston said he'd buy her perfume, and to select what she wanted. He made the purchase and they left."

Jonas rose from his chair and put on his hat. "The investigation might go better if you handled it alone, Marshal," he said, frowning at me.

"Marshal, I'd like you to lunch at Southern Feast with me if you would," I said. "I have questions for Lissie, and I'd like your impression of what she says."

"Alright," said the marshal. "If you don't mind Chester coming with us. He'll remember anything I forget of what she says."

"Certainly," I said. I stored at the forefront of my mind Mary Norman's and Dillon's reactions to my question of whether Chester had an acquaintance with Lissie. I was sure the marshal suspected Chester knew something he hadn't revealed about the murder.

I went to the kitchen at Southern Feast and asked Lissie if she'd sit with us while I asked her some questions. I'd talked to her at length two days prior, and though I remembered her as exceptionally pretty, I'd forgotten how stunningly enchanting she was. She had very large, slightly slanting yellow-gold eyes framed by a thick tangle of lashes, a heart-shaped face, small round nose and full mouth. Her shiny dark hair was abundant and softly curling, her coppery complexion flawless, and her graceful form slender yet womanly.

"I haven't much time, Mr. Penn," Lissie said. "I must start the dinner preparation soon."

"This won't take long," I said. "Did you eat lunch?"

"Yes. I'll just have coffee."

People I hadn't seen on the streets of Dodge patronized Southern Feast. I surmised as with most frontier towns that they owned or worked ranches, farms or businesses in the outlying areas. Lissie said she stayed at a boarding house two miles from town. The diners at Southern Feast were mainly former slaves. There were also some people of Chinese ancestry, and some, like Lissie, looked to be of mixed parentage. Two Cheyenne men sat at a table absorbed in conversation, and I wondered if they were traders.

When we approached the table where Marshal Dillon and Chester were seated, Chester stood and pulled out a chair for Lissie, and he and Dillon said hello to her.

"I recommend the catfish. Special price for Marshal Dillon and guests," Lissie said, smiling at the marshal.

"I'm paying," I said.

"Are you," she replied. "We'll give you the special price anyway since the marshal is here."

"Do you know Mary Norman?" I asked abruptly, looking intently at Lissie. "She's transcribing my interviews for the murder case."

"Yes, I know Mary," Lissie said. "We're friends."

 _"Friends,"_ I said. I raised my brows and went quiet, staring expectantly at Lissie. She looked calmly back at me. Though no malice tainted her countenance, I felt like her bright gold eyes piercing my dark ones searched my soul and understood things about me that I myself could not comprehend.

Marshal Dillon and Chester joined Lissie in gazing at me. Dillon looked amused, a grin twitching the corner of his mouth. Chester ate buttered bread rolls and regarded me like I was some unknown animal species.

I realized my silent stratagem wasn't working on Lissie, and with all their eyes on me I began to feel a fool. I pulled out a handkerchief and blotted my face. "You call Mrs. Norman Mary?" I said.

"Yes," said Lissie. "We're friends, as I said."

"You've already informed me of that," I said. "You repeated your statement."

"So I did," she said. "And I'll repeat it again if I feel the need."

A flash of anger stabbed my chest. "Don't be impertinent," I said. I meant to sound harsh, but the words came out unsteadily. Her eyes continued holding mine. A lunatic thought struck me that I could drown in her eyes, in a gold sea under a brilliant yellow sky.

Then Lissie's eyes grew soft and warm as she looked at me. "See, Mr. Penn, your gumbo's come," she said. "It's delicious, I assure you."

"My goodness," said Chester, inhaling the steam. "Wish I'd ordered some."

"We'll give you some on the house to take with you and warm for later," Lissie said to Chester. "Oh, do eat, Mr. Penn."

"I don't know if I can take the spices," I said. "My stomach's a mite sour."

"Chicken soup's what you need then," said Lissie. "I'll get you a bowl."

"No, no," I said. "Let the waiter fetch it. I haven't finished my questions."

"Can I eat your gumbo if you don't want it, Mr. Penn?" said Chester.

"Er, yes. Of course," I said. "Now, Lissie. Have you ever known Mrs. Norman to work as a transcriptionist?"

"No. She's wealthy. I suppose she's doing it to help solve Senator Greyston's killing. Mary's very involved in town affairs. She's very charitable," Lissie said.

"I see," I said. "You think Mrs. Norman is notating my interviews to apprise you of how my case is going?"

Chester had a coughing fit and gulped from his water glass. Lissie glanced at him with what I deduced was a warning look. I was sure of it. Lissie and Chester looked meaningfully at each other, then Chester lowered his face over his bowl and rapidly spooned gumbo into his mouth. Marshal Dillon looked from one of them to the other as though wondering what they were about.

"Perhaps," was all Lissie said in answer to my question.

"Why would Mrs. Norman think you'd take an interest in this particular case?" I said.

"Because she's interested in it," said Lissie, "and she knows I'm fond of listening to her on any subject. Mary's educated and well traveled, and a captivating conversationalist." Mrs. Norman had impressed me as quite ordinary at the marshal's office, though she had lively intelligent eyes, and her features were pleasingly uniform and patrician.

"I see," I said. "Now tell me again what happened at the marshal's office the night Senator Greyston was murdered."

"I went to the office to report a burglary here," said Lissie. "A strange man was loitering around the back door to the kitchen. When we opened the drawer at closing time, the money was all gone.

"Chester was in the marshal's office when I got there. Senator Greyston lay on the floor, bleeding badly from here." Lissie pressed her hand between her stomach and the lower part of her chest, and I noticed her breath quickening. "Chester said he or the marshal would have to take the burglary report another time," Lissie went on, "and to wait at the office until he could see me home as there might be danger afoot. I knew I'd be in the way with him having to look out for me, so I said I'd be alright walking home alone. Then I left."

"You have anything to add to that, Chester?" I said.

Lissie started. Chester's eyes widened, and he looked from me to Lissie to Marshal Dillon. "No . . . n-nothing," he said. "It happened jest like Lissie said." He swallowed hard and drained his water glass. He was trying to deceive me. I considered him an absurdly obvious liar. The marshal frowned at him.

"We'll talk it over in your interview at the office, shall we, Chester?" I said.

Chester looked blank a moment, then scowled at me. "Talk long as you please, Penn," he said darkly. He rose from the table, put on his hat and tipped it to Lissie, tossed his napkin on my plate and stalked out.

His mouth opened in clearly discernible surprise, Marshal Dillon watched him leave.

"I suppose you know your man is hiding something," I told the marshal as we walked from Southern Feast through the prairie grass to his office to resume the interviews. Kitty Russell was next on my list.

"I don't know that he's hiding anything unless he tells me, 'I'm hiding something,' " said Dillon.

"Oh come now, don't be coy, Marshal," I said sharply. I felt a stab of temper between my temples, which started a thrumming in my head and a tremor through my hands. "Any ass can see Chester lied to me at the restaurant," I said. "He looked a blamed idiot doing it too. If you hired an assistant like that, you must be a dim fellow yourself."

Dillon stopped walking. I kept moving, but he took hold of my arm and turned me to face him. Though he wasn't rough about it, and looked more annoyed than mad, my heart jumped as I looked up at him.

He released my arm and said, "I'm tired of your highbrow talk, Penn. You think you can solve this killing, quit blowin' air and get to it, or keep your hide outta my office."

Buttoned into my wool coat, I started shivering, and it wasn't the cold wind that did it. The hardness smoothed out of Dillon's face as he looked at me. He started walking again as I stood there with my hands in my coat pockets.

"You comin?" the marshal said without looking back.

I hurried to catch up with him and we walked in silence. My nerves calmed somewhat, but the aftermath as always had its way with me, and I clenched my teeth to keep from chattering.

"Hard winds today," Dillon said presently. "Guess you're used to that in Chicago."

"Stand in an Illinois field this time of year, the winds will knock you off your feet," I said. We said nothing more the rest of the walk.

Chester had made fresh coffee, and was chatting at the table with Kitty and Mrs. Norman. His smile faded when I entered the office, and he moved to sit behind the marshal's desk.

"Hello Kitty," the marshal said.

"Matt," said Kitty.

"I'll get right to my questions if you don't mind," I said. "Can you tell me please what you saw at the marshal's office the night of Senator Greyston's murder?"

"Well," Kitty said, "Matt hadn't stopped by the Long Branch, and I wanted to see him to chat. I thought I'd wait in the office 'til he finished his rounds. I'm a ways down the walk from the marshal's office when I hear a shot. It came from the direction of the office, but I couldn't tell exactly where. Then I see Chester hurrying down the walk from the opposite direction. From where I was. And he went in the office. Then Bess—the gal that works for me who talked a lot to Senator Greyston—she comes along and stops me, pouring out her heart about her latest beau breakin' it off with her. That girl has more fellas than a—"

"Please stay with your story, Miss Kitty," I interrupted.

"Sure," said Kitty. "While Bess talks to me, I'm looking down the walk hoping that shot didn't come from the office and Chester's alright. Then I see Felicity Carol come out of the office and walk away. I assume she went home. I thought it a little strange because her curls were down, and not in a neat way. Her hair was mussed, and she always wears it up fixed particularly nice. She was walking sort of unsteady too, which isn't like her. I don't know Lissie well, but I know she's not a drinking woman.

"I was real curious to find out from Chester what was going on," Kitty said, "so I said goodnight to Bess and went on my way to the office. Chester opened the door and ran into me coming out. He begged pardon, said Senator Greyston was shot but still alive, and asked me to stay with the senator while Chester went for Doc.

"I knew Doc could do nothing for the senator when I saw him lying there. Blood covered his front above the belt and puddled the floor, and his face was blue. His eyes were a little open and he was barely breathing.

"Then Doc holding his bag came in with Chester, and Matt coming in from his night rounds. Doc said if there was any chance to save the senator, it'd have to be in Doc's office. Doc said Greyston died on the table in his office not long after." Kitty sighed and drank a mouthful of coffee.

"You need to stop the interviewin' a spell, Miss Kitty?" Chester said.

"I'm alright," said Kitty. "Let's get the questions over now."

I rested my elbows on the table, scooted to the edge of my chair, straightened my shoulders and leaned forward, looking closely into Kitty's lovely eyes. "Miss Kitty," I said, "You stated you saw Chester enter the marshal's office, is that correct?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then a short time later, you saw Felicity leave the office."

"Yes."

"Did you at any time look away from the marshal's office from the time Chester went in until the time Lissie came out?" I said.

"No," said Kitty, "I didn't. I'm sure of it. I had my eyes on the office worrying about Chester the whole time Bess was talking to me. I just wanted to get down there and see if things were alright."

"Did you at any point while you stood on that walkway see Lissie _enter_ the office _after_ Chester went in?" I said.

"No," Kitty said decidedly. "I only saw Lissie come out. After Chester went in."

 _"Wait a minute,"_ said Marshal Dillon. He scraped back his chair and stood. "Felicity said Chester was already _in_ the office when she came in."

"Matt, he couldn't have been," said Kitty. "Lissie had to be in there already when Chester went in. I swear I know I would've seen it if she'd gone in after him."

Mrs. Norman dropped her pen on her notepaper and touched her hand to her throat.

The marshal moved to where Chester sat behind the desk. "Chester, what's this all about," Dillon said. "You knew Lissie was lying and you backed up her story."

I left my chair to stand beside the marshal and take a thorough look at Chester as he explained himself. Chester stood slowly, meeting Dillon's gaze.

"I'm not saying nothing 'til the right time comes, Mr. Dillon," he said. "Then I'll tell you everything happened; I promise. I won't tell him nothing," Chester said, jerking his head at me while still looking at the marshal. "He's no lawman.

"I'm sorry 'bout . . . 'bout not tellin' the truth directly, but I jest can't see my way clear 'til the time comes. If you want, I'll throw my duds in my bedroll and say goodbye. Nothin' much to pack. Then I won't make you no more trouble," Chester said.

"I don't need his testimony now, Marshal," I said. "Not with Miss Kitty's account. It's plain Felicity murdered Senator Greyston.

"She had the gun in her hand standing over him when you walked in, isn't that right, you liar," I said to Chester. He was rummaging under the bed by the wall, and paid me no mind.

"You don't know that unless Chester corroborates it, Penn," the marshal said to me. "Chester finding Lissie in the office after the senator was shot doesn't mean she did it. It was dark and Kitty was far enough down the walk, she wouldn't have seen if a gunman with a sharp eye shot Greyston through the window without hitting Lissie. I can tell you sure that Chester and I left the office windows and curtains open that night to air the office while we were out," said Dillon.

"You _know_ that's not what happened," I said. "What kind of a lawman are you?"

"I'm not jailing Lissie without more proof, Penn," Dillon said.

"You'd have proof if your lying partner told the truth," I said. "Can we finish the interviews? Doc Adams is next on my list. I want to collect as much testimonial evidence as I can."

"Go on with your interviews," said Dillon. "I want this killing solved too.

"Chester, where d'you think you're goin'?" said the marshal. "Get back in here. I'm not throwin' ya out." Chester was headed out the door with a bedroll under his arm and a sack in his other hand.

Chester hesitated in the doorway. "I'm too much trouble for you," he said. "I'd tell what happened now if I could see my way clear, but I can't."

"You can't tell me what happened at all if you're not here, Chester," Dillon said

"Well," said Chester, "Reckon maybe I'll stay then."

"I'd still like to interview you if you will," I said to Chester. "After Doc."

"Well . . . ." Chester said.

"You're right; I'm no lawman," I said. "You're not bound to tell me anything you don't want to tell me."

Chester nodded and started putting his bundles away.

"Ah," I said, "Here's the good doctor now."

Doc gave me a keen look like he wouldn't tolerate any rubbish from the likes of me. I knew I'd have to watch my tongue if I wanted to draw a pertinent narrative out of him. "Matt," he said. "Kitty. Hello, Mary."

"Hello, Doc," said Mary Norman. "I'm transcribing interviews for the case."

"You don't say," said Doc. "Seems a tedious business. You're a saint to do that, Mary. I wouldn't do that for any amount of money."

"It's been fun, Mr. Penn, but unfortunately I can't stay," said Kitty. "See you tonight, Matt?"

"Sure."

"Where're you goin', Chester," said Doc.

"I'm not goin', Doc; I'm stayin'. I'll bring you some coffee," said Chester.

"Shall we get on with the interview?" I said. "The day's going fast. I won't hold you long, Doc. I only need to know exactly what Senator Greyston said to you—and to Chester—before he died."

"Well, let's see." Doc thoughtfully rubbed his chin.

"I recollect the very words, Doc," Chester said.

"Let Doc tell me," I said.

Doc said, "The senator said _'Lissie.'_ I said, 'What about Lissie?' And Greyston said, _'It's my fault. She's not to blame.'_ Then he looked at Chester and said, _'Please don't tell on her. My Lissie. They'll hurt her. Please don't.'_ "

"And what did Chester say to the senator," I said.

"Chester said _'I won't.'_ Then Greyston died," Doc said.

The marshal straightened in his chair and looked at Chester. Mary Norman put her hands over her mouth.

"Maybe now you'll see your way clear to tell us what happened in this office that night, Chester," I said.

"I'll tell you what happened in Doc's office," said Chester. "I said those words to comfort a dying man. Could be the senator didn't know what he was sayin'."

"That's possible," Doc said.

"Your own friends testify to Felicity Carol's guilt," I said to Chester, "and you _still_ won't tell us what happened?"

"Hold on," said Doc. "I'm not testifying to her guilt. I don't know if she shot Greyston. Like Chester said, he was dying. Who knows what he meant by those words, if anything."

I punched the table, feeling a pounding inside my head. "You people are all protecting this woman," I said. "Never mind that she's guilty as sin. It doesn't matter if a woman has the very devil inside her so long as her face is beautiful." My head felt ready to explode, and I grabbed it in both hands.

"I can give you something for that," said Doc.

"Your powders won't work," I said. "I need the laudanum bottle in my room at Dodge House. I need it like a drunk needs whiskey."

"Double dosage of headache powders will set you straight," said Doc. "You want laudanum, you'll have to fetch your own bottle. I won't help you feed that sickness."

"Alright, the powders then," I said. "I can't get to my room until this misery stops anyway."

"Chester," said Doc, "you know what the box of headache powders in my cabinet looks like?"

"I'll get it Doc," said Chester.

"Bring three packets for this fella," Doc said.

Still clutching my head, I lowered my forehead to the table and groaned. A moment later, I felt the doctor's fingers pressing and massaging my temples. "The room's spinning," I moaned.

"Easy," Doc said. His hands moved to rub my shoulders.

"Poor man," said Mrs. Norman.

"Might help to feed 'im some whiskey afore I get back," said Chester.

"Mix that with the powders and you might as well give 'im the laudanum," said the marshal.

"No whiskey," said Doc. "Just get my powders, Chester. You got a first name, Mr. Penn?"

"Thaddeus."

"Alright, Thaddeus."

I was feeling better under the doctor's ministrations when Chester returned with the headache powders. Doc mixed a triple dose in water and I drank it, slurping the dregs.

"Now then," I said faintly, "Can we get through this before nightfall? Can I ask you my questions, Chester?"

"No matter to me; you're not feelin' too poorly," he replied.

"I'm fine," I said. "The pain's already subsiding." I yawned, feeling suddenly very tired, too tired to feel angry when Dillon smirked at me.

"Do yourself a favor, Thaddeus," said Doc. "Get some sleep. Not that you'll take my advice.

"I've a few house calls to make," Doc said. He gave my shoulders a parting pat and left.

"Let's approach it this way, Chester," I said. I picked up my pen, then noticed the marshal and Chester watching my hand tremble, and dropped the pen. "What _truths_ can you—will you—tell me about that night?" I said. I covered my shaking hand with my hand that only trembled slightly.

"I didn't see who shot Senator Greyston," said Chester. "I heard the shot afore I got to the office."

"Then you'll at least admit Felicity was in the office when you came in?" I said.

"I don't admit nothin'," Chester said peacefully.

"Yes, alright then." I leaned my forearms on the table. Chester's lean face looked blurry around the edges.

"Marshal Dillon. I suppose I really haven't any questions for you. I expect it's all been said, other than your man here obstructing the paths of justice. I intend to include that in my report to the Agency, which will in turn dispatch it to the U.S. Department of Justice." I blinked hard in a useless attempt to clear my vision.

"I trust I've collected sufficient testimonial evidence for the Attorney General to indict Felicity Carol for murder," I continued, swiping my hands over my papers on the table in a vain effort to stack them neatly. I was vaguely aware of a gasp from Mrs. Norman. "Marshal, you will please direct Felicity not to consider fleeing town," I said in a near whisper. I thought I detected concern in the marshal's face, which swam in my eyes like a visage in a circus glass. "That . . . con-cludes . . . my in-vestiga-tion. Gentlemen."

His tall thin frame a fuzzy maze of blended color to my eyes, Chester rose and moved toward me as I braced my hands on the table and stood on shaky legs. He tried to catch me, but he wasn't fast enough. The floor slanted upright and slammed my face, and everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two – Matt

"My goodness," said Chester, after the Pinkerton agent fell on his face. Chester bent over Penn and carefully turned him over. "He don't look bunged up or bleedin' none, Mr. Dillon. You reckon he's jest plumb wore out?"

"That and Doc's headache powders times three," I said. "Not to mention opium withdrawal. Go to Doc's and ask him to come when he gets back to his office, will you, Chester? I'll take care of this fella."

Mary Norman suddenly seemed in a great hurry to go home. "The poor man," she said, clucking her tongue at Penn, then she thrust her interview notes at me.

I scarce had time to thank her before she was out the door. "Mrs. Norman, Chester will walk you home if you wait a few minutes," I said.

"Oh, no, no, I'll be fine, Marshal," she called back to me as she practically ran down the walk. "My house isn't far. Goodnight!"

I picked Penn up, put him on Chester's bed, and threw a blanket over him. I knew he was alright when he started snoring softly.

I poured a cup of coffee, sat at the table and tried to figure what was going on with Chester and Felicity and Greyston's killing. I had no doubt my partner was protecting Lissie, though I didn't know why. I decided to prod Chester harder to get at the truth.

When Chester came in with Doc, he looked Penn over, said he was simply exhausted and we should let him sleep there until he woke up. After Doc said goodnight, I asked Chester to get himself a cup of coffee and sit at the table with me.

"I know what you wanna talk about, Mr. Dillon," Chester said. We spoke in hushed tones so as not to wake Penn. "I truly promise, I'll tell you everything—"

"When the time comes. How many times have you said that, Chester."

"I don't know. I can't recollect the count of it."

"Well, what're you waiting on? Can you tell me that?" I said.

"A span of days," said Chester.

"A span of days. How many days?"

"Don't know exact," Chester said. "Nine, ten maybe."

"Nine or ten _days?_ Chester, you know I won't jail Lissie on a murder charge unless you tell me you saw her standing over Senator Greyston with a gun in her hand, don't you?"

"Yessir," he said.

"Then what the deuce are you waitin' for? You waiting for her to flee Dodge? Is that it?"

Chester frowned and tilted his head. "That's not _jest_ it," he said. "Not so . . . in that way . . . . "

I sighed. _"Chester."_ I stopped myself from smacking the table as I remembered Penn snoring in the bed.

"Can't you jest wait, Mr. Dillon?" Chester pleaded. "Please? It surely won't be more'n ten days at most."

"Well I don't have a choice, do I?"

"I'm—"

"You're sorry. That's not helping me close up my part of this case."

Penn said he had a notion he needed to visit Lissie one last time before traveling back to Chicago. Not surprisingly, her room was cleaned out and she was nowhere to be found. Mary Norman had also disappeared. Her house was locked, the draperies drawn across the windows.

Penn came to the office and confronted Chester, who said, "I ain't tellin' you nothin'." As he couldn't do anything more, Penn left for Chicago.

Ten days later, Chester handed me a telegram he'd received from Mary Norman. " ' _Lissie and I nearly to West Indies as you receive this,' "_ I read aloud. _" 'Will never be found, thanks to you, Chester_. _Farewell from both of us.' "_

 _"Now_ will you tell me what happened that night?" I said to my partner. "I can't do anything about it, but I need to know why you helped Felicity escape, Chester."

"Lissie was already here in the office when I come in that night," said Chester. "She was holdin' a derringer and standin' over Greyston. She said she carried the gun in her . . . in her . . . . "

"I know," I said. "Go on."

"Lissie said Greyston come to her restaurant that night and told her to walk some with him," Chester said. "She didn't want to since he was some drunk, but he said she better obey him or he'd make trouble for her. She said she'd been tryin' to stay away from him cuz he said he couldn't marry her on account of the laws against it, but he still wanted to . . . you know, only she wouldn't let 'im.

"That night they walked on the prairie some, then he tried forcin' her. She said she fought 'im off and run fast as she could to the marshal's office. Greyston followed her inside and tried to attack her, seein' as weren't nobody in the office."

Chester paused his story, frowning. "The senator must've been plumb loco with whiskey and wantin' Lissie to try and take her right here in the office, leavin' the door unlocked and all," he said. "You and me coulda showed up here any time, Mr. Dillon.

"Anyhow, Lissie pulls out her little gun and shoots 'im. He never got to her," said Chester. "She storied 'bout comin' here to report money bein' stole from her restaurant, and told me to go along with her storyin'.

"She said if I told the truth of what I saw, she'd go to prison on account of her birth-her color—as so many folks loved the senator in his political work. "They'd never give her a chance," she said. "She might even hang.

"Lissie asked me next day to come over Mary Norman's house. Mrs. Norman said she offered to transcribe Mr. Penn's interviews, and if she heard things turning bad for Lissie, they was gonna flee the country. Mrs. Norman started makin' their travel plans the morning after Lissie shot Greyston. Mrs. Norman said I wasn't to tell a soul any of it 'til she sent me this telegram. And that's all, Mr. Dillon," Chester said. "Good gracious, I'm wore down. I never had to tell such a story all my days. It's even more wearisome unloading the truth to you after that long spell keepin' confidence. I have to lay down and close my eyes some now." Chester moved slowly to his bed, flopped down and was instantly asleep.

I sat on the end of the bed and watched him sleep a moment. I'd report his story to headquarters, leaving out the part about him withholding for ten days information relevant to the case, as well as the part about Lissie escaping with Mrs. Norman to the West Indies with Chester complicit in their plans. If headquarters ordered me to jail Lissie, I'd simply respond that she'd left Dodge awhile ago.

As for Pinkerton agent Thaddeus Penn, I'd ask Doc to write a letter to the Agency detailing Penn's collapse, stating that as he'd suffered opium withdrawal and incapacitating exhaustion during the interviews, he was incompetent at the time to compile an accurate report of his investigation into Senator Greyston's death. I knew Doc would be the more eager to do it when I explained why the letter was needed.

Mrs. Norman's telegram in hand, I put on my hat and headed for Doc's. I tore the telegram up on the way and threw the shreds to blow into the wind.


End file.
